The New Jacob
by zelasswilder
Summary: This was just a routine thing, he had to repeat to himself, Jacob had made this visit to him so it couldn’t be too hard. There didn’t have to be a big fireworks show of power and freaky island voodoo. Just touch the poor sap. That’s all it took.


**Author's Notes**: My take on if Sawyer is the chosen candidate to take over Jacob's place. Hurley isn't dead, he's sort of like Sawyer's Richard Alpert now(in this fic, Richard is gone). The Mexican referred to in this is actually El Mariachi from the Robert Rodriguez trilogy of El Mariachi, Desperado, and Once Upon a Time in Mexico. Because it's not really about him though, I'm not putting this in the cross-over section. Enjoy and review!

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When was the last time he walked into a church? When was the last time he walked through a pair of French doors decorated with stained-glass windows? He couldn't remember. How pathetic was that?

Sawyer scoffed to himself and looked down at his filthy boots that seemed to scuff the floor wherever he went in the shining building. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a pang of guilt for messing up the floor.

His booted feet stepped forward and he slipped further into the church, eyes wide and curious as he took in everything around him. Nobody was there, he didn't have the guts to go to an actual church service. He figured making it into any church would put him on a higher peg than he'd been on previously with the big guy upstairs.

There really was nowhere to go but up at this point.

Everybody was gone. Just him remaining. He ran a finger over the white ankh charm on his necklace as he stepped into the church a little more.

"_What's with the Egyptian charm, cowboy? Something you're not telling us?" _some fat dipso had guffawed at him across the bar earlier.

And the son of a bitch was right to question it. It looked weird on the tan blonde southerner. It set off an odd charisma that was nothing like his personality. And, yet, the charm seemed perfectly at home on his chest. The perfect length of chain kept it centered on his collar bone so he'd always see it when he looked in the mirror. _'That's where you come from, James. That's what you're here for,' _it would remind him time and time again.

"_So what now, Boss? Never heard nuthin' bout judgment comin' down with holy pyre on innocent people. What you gonna do now that it has?" _he wanted to ask the grand creator. He didn't though. He stood silently in the crimson aisle of the church, staring down towards the pulpit where the holy trinity seemed to beam down at him.

Were they really innocent? He couldn't say _he_ was and he didn't tell most people about his past. He couldn't imagine the things those 'innocents' had hidden. Maybe they were just better liars than him.

He found his rough hand reaching up to touch the white ankh and he rubbed it silently to soothe himself. This was just a routine thing, he had to repeat to himself, Jacob had made this visit to him so it couldn't be too hard. There didn't have to be a big fireworks show of power and freaky island voodoo. Just touch the poor sap. That's all it took.

Hugo hadn't been much help to calm him down.

"_Dude, we all got the visit and nobody really remembered it but me. Just go and make a friendly touch. Hell, you could probably get away with being yourself and making the person punch you!" he laughed light-heartedly._

_Sawyer sneered at him and turned his swampy eyes back towards the ocean as he let his thoughts brew about it._

He didn't feel right here. If he was the new Jacob he should have felt better about this.

He didn't feel anything but bad mojo from the entire situation.

Sawyer shifted on his feet and his dirty brown boot scuffed the floor again. His fingers rubbed the ankh around his neck like a nun might rub a rosary. Lifting his gaze, he stared at the large gorgeous depiction of Jesus sacrificing himself on the cross painted on stained glass.

"Hello? Sir, how can I help you?" a priest walked out from a confession booth. Right, this was a catholic church.

"Nah, just lookin' around, Padre," Sawyer flashed a charming dimpled smile at the priest who nodded.

"If you need a confession-"

Sawyer cut him off with a laugh, "Boy, you ain't got enough time for _my_ confession. I'm waitin' to meet somebody."

"Do you know when they'll be here?" the priest inquired.

_Not soon enough._

"In about ten minutes give'r'take," Sawyer informed him.

"Call for me if you need me, my child," and the priest turned and left.

Sawyer hated that this was the first person he had to 'touch'. He didn't understand the order or reason but he knew this one had to be the first. He watched the priest leave him be and Sawyer took a seat slowly in one of the pews. His eyes were directed at the figure of Jesus while he rubbed his own personal amulet that hung on his neck.

Then the doors opened and Sawyer turned his eyes back quickly at the abrupt break of silence.

There in the doorway stood the man he had been waiting for. A tallish Mexican with shaggy brown hair dressed in an unusual amount of black. Black pants and black jacket that were decorated in groupings of chains. They were near the Texas border so Sawyer could see how he'd get away with the sort of Mexican traditional outfit.

The white shirt the Mexican wore underneath the jacket was splattered with blood.

This was his guy.

Sawyer stood slowly, "Ya need some help, hoss?" he asked as the Mexican stumbled down the aisle.

"I need confession," the Mexican growled out in his thick accent. Sawyer could barely make out his tan face from under his shaggy matted hair.

"No kiddin'," Sawyer mumbled.

"What?" the Mexican reeled on him. He'd heard stories that said that he was a big guy, and for a Mexican he was, but his stance of 5'10" didn't measure up to Sawyer's 6'2" and the southerner looked down at him with his head held high.

"You look rough, y'oughta sit down," Sawyer reached out and touched the Mexican's shoulder.

Good. That's all it took.

The Mexican shook his head and pulled away now, "I need confession."

"If you insist. God's a patient guy though, I don't think he'd mind you took a breather or a bath before ya talked."

"God's lost his patience with me a long time ago," and the Mexican headed to the confession booth with a quickness in his step that made Sawyer forget that the guy had a bullet wound in his side.

It didn't matter. He'd be okay now. Sawyer had seen to it personally.

His dirty boots scuffed against the steps of the church as he left the building. Sawyer lifted his head and let the wind whip his hair around a little.

That wasn't so hard. Just one touch to ensure an ally in the future. Yeah, he'd get through this _just _fine.


End file.
